


Nocturnal Alliances

by InsertSthMeaningful



Series: The Duty of a King [1]
Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Canon Disabled Character, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Erik You Slut, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Sharing a Bed, and there was only one bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:13:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27856541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsertSthMeaningful/pseuds/InsertSthMeaningful
Summary: When Charles Xavier, King of Westchester, invites the ruler of Genosha to spend a night in his bed as a show of trust and allyship between their kingdoms, he certainly isn't prepared for the rather handsy outcome.Which does not mean that he is disappointed by it.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Series: The Duty of a King [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2114064
Comments: 39
Kudos: 120





	Nocturnal Alliances

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Ночные альянсы](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29431584) by [Krayn_Aletale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krayn_Aletale/pseuds/Krayn_Aletale)



> Inspired by [this post - TIL that in the middle ages it was an accepted political act for two kings to sleep in the same bed as a symbol of unity between their two countries; much like the modern day photo-op](https://historic-old-guard-lover.tumblr.com/post/636342290966839296/tilthat-til-that-in-the-middle-ages-it-was-an). A nice twist to the bed-sharing trope, non?  
> All historical inaccuracies as well as spelling & grammar mistakes are entirely my fault because I was too impatient to run this by a beta.

Charles sighed wearily and glared at Raven. His quasi-sister was having the time of her live smoothing down his bedspread and watching him blush.

“Just so you know: I will not enjoy this,” he hissed, scratching his neatly trimmed beard which was starting to itch with nervous anticipation.

“Of course, you won’t, brother dear.” Raven flopped down on the edge of the mattress, immediately destroying all her hard work of making the sheets look immaculate, and flashed him her most innocent smile. “After all, you’re only doing it for your country and people.”

If Charles had still had full use of his legs, he would have kicked her. Instead, he leaned back against the countless pillows propped up behind his back and sent her a subtle sense of threatening calm. “The King of Genosha is late.”

“You say that as though you can’t wait for- ow! Charles!”

This time, Charles had leaned forward and pinched her thigh through the fabric of her elaborate dress. Now she shot him a dirty look and slid towards the foot end of the bed, out of reach of his hands, before she started a second attempt. “You say that as though you won’t stay up reading anyway until it’s the witching hour and your eyes are burning. I tell you, Erik Lehnsherr will have a more difficult night with you than you with him. You should have resigned long ago and let me handle the diplomacy between our kingdoms.”

“So you can hop into bed with Queen Frost from Utopia and the Munroe Regent from Wakanda under the pretence of symbolising unity between their country and ours?” Charles huffed a shuddering laugh. “Oh please, Raven, I see through your games.”

Yellow eyes blazing, Raven was just opening her mouth to scold him back, when the high oak doors to Charles’ bedchambers swung open and Erik Lehnsherr of Genosha appeared in the doorframe.

Grey-green gaze wandering from Raven to look at Charles, he said quietly, “I beg your pardon for my lateness, your Majesty. I was observing my prayers.” Then, nodding his thanks at the servants who accompanied him and shut the door behind him, he strode over to the other side of Charles’ bed and started to undress.

Raven’s eyes widened and her thoughts grew sticky with lewdness as she watched the Genoshan royal shed layer after layer of his richly embroidered robes, and Charles purposefully turned his gaze on the heavy tome laid open on his lap. He had no intention of sneaking even so much as a glance at Erik Lehnsherr’s slim yet athletic figure. None whatsoever.

He was so engrossed in blocking out the whispers of the servants and the goading rustle of Lehnsherr’s clothes as he pulled them off that he almost didn’t notice Raven poking his unfeeling foot.

 _What?_ he mouthed soundlessly at her when she had at last got his attention.

 _No matter what you pretend, you’re so going to enjoy this ‘traditional act of displaying unity’, brother dear,_ she sent him in crystal-clear mindspeak through their link, and then, ere he could block her out, she added some rather lucid impressions of Lehnsherr’s bared, tanned back and his impressively narrow waist.

Charles pretended like they didn’t make his mouth water and shot his sister a disapproving look. _It’s a tradition, Raven, nothing more. Two kings climb into bed together at night and emerge unchanged in the morning, having done nothing more than display trust and loyalty towards each other._

 _Don’t quote the handbook of royal manners back at me._ Seeing as the King of Genosha was almost ready, Raven got up from her place by Charles’ side and neatly folded her hands in front of her body.

Charles gave a very quiet, very exasperated sigh. _And I tell you, Raven, that there is nothing more but amity between Genosha’s ruler and me._

 _Tell me again in the morning,_ Raven sniggered, nodding when the servants started to bow before they left.

The thick bedspread rustled noisily in the tense silence of the room as Erik Lehnsherr of Genosha slipped under the covers of Charles’ bed and laid his head on a pillow. Charles thought he could catch glimpses of his petal-white hair, his modest nightgown, the admirable slope of his nose-

Moira MacTaggert, steward of the Xaviers’ royal household, stepped to the foot end of the bed.

“Your Majesties,” she addressed them solemnly, “I and half a dozen servants will be sleeping just outside the door. Call if you need anything. You will be woken when the clock strikes nine in the morning.”

“Thank you, Miss MacTaggert.” Charles dismissed her with a sign of his hand, himself surprised with how self-assured his voice sounded. “Have a good night.”

“Have a good night,” the steward and the rest of the servants echoed before they turned and filed out one after the other. Raven, too, gave a quick curtesy, winked one last time at Charles in a decidedly naughty manner considering she was supposed to have been brought up as the former King’s ward, and slipped out into the hallway.

The door slammed closed, and Charles Xavier of Westchester and Erik Lehnsherr of Genosha were left alone in the dimly lit bedroom.

A few heartbeats went by without either of them uttering a word. The candle on Charles’ nightstand flickered uneasily, and the glowing embers in the fireplace crackled with mirth. To his right, Charles could feel Lehnsherr’s mind churning away with tiredness.

At last, he took heart and cleared his throat. “Would it agree with you if I left the candle burning? I shall like to read another few pages.”

“Do as you wish,” came the answer, smothered by Lehnsherr’s face pressed into the soft pillow. “Good night.”

Charles’ eyes flickered over ere he could stop himself. Grinding his teeth in self-flagellation, he tore his gaze away from Lehnsherr’s silhouette outlined weakly under the bedspread. “Thank you. Good night.”

He waited, and when Lehnsherr said nothing more, he went back to reading. Or at least he tried.

The letters blurred in front of him, though not from tiredness. He itched under his linen nightgown in the most impossible places, and his heart was racing so rapidly he was afraid the King of Genosha would pick it up with his metal sense. It had been his fault that they had been manoeuvred into this situation. He was the one who had suggested the librarians have a look at the handbooks on manners and traditions in the Westchesterian library so they would find a ceremony to strengthen the bond between Genosha and Westchester, and he was the one who had finally presented the results to his council - of course, he had not taken a good look at the compiled options beforehand. His advisors had agreed unanimously: Charles was to invite Erik Lehnsherr for a diplomatic visit and passing a night in the same bed was to be part of it.

And now here they were, perched awkwardly at opposite ends of the same mattress, while Charles desperately tried to get his mind off the rather friendly days they had spent previously.

When it became clear that concentrating on his reading was a nigh impossible feat, Charles slumped against the pillows propping up his tortured back and pushed a quietly exasperated sigh for the third time this evening.

Raven had set this up. That much was clear, and neither Hank McCoy nor Armando Muñoz could be much more innocent in their advising for this course of action.

Charles frowned. Were his subjects trying to get him laid?

A soft groan fluttered over from Erik’s side of the bed - the intimate sound of a sleeper - and Charles at last dared to turn his head and look at him properly in the dancing candlelight.

The ruler of Genosha was, without a doubt, a man of unadulterated beauty. Now, trapped in dreams, his eyelashes fluttered like the gossamer wings of a silver moth. The constant lines of worry on his brow and around his gorgeously slanted lips had vanished, smoothed over by sleep, and for the first time since Charles had laid eyes upon him, he looked almost peaceful. The collar of his nightgown had been drawn askew – the tanned tip his collarbone peeked shyly from under the white cloth.

Charles longed to touch. Depraved though it was, he longed to taste, longed to bend over and kiss those fluttering eyelids and those delicate lips and that high brow awake.

Erik stirred in his sleep, moaned as he dug his cheek deeper into the pillow, and Charles pinched the back of his own hand, hissing under his breath.

It was true – they _had_ spent a rather lovely time together during Erik’s five-day-long diplomatic visit, passing the evenings in Charles’ study playing chess after he had shown Erik around Westchester’s capital and the surrounding lands during the day. Though reserved, withdrawn almost, the regent of Genosha made for intriguing conversation and quietly shared moments of amiable company. Just like Charles, he understood the value of their allyship.

And yet, it did not mean the bond between them extended any further than that. Yes, Erik smiled at him more than at anybody else, yes, Charles could not get around admitting that he found this rather charming – but no. They could never be anything more.

He thought it was rather more plausible that he would wake with a dagger between his ribs come morning than with love kindled between them.

With a sigh, he heaved the tome onto the nightstand and extinguished the candle. It went out in a hiss, spluttering to death until only the faint glow from the fireplace illuminated the room. Charles manoeuvred his unmoving legs down on the mattress, pulled the covers up to his chin and stared into the darkness above.

To his right, Erik Lehnsherr breathed steadily and dreamed of wild things. Charles sighed.

Falling asleep would be a bore.

It was not yet morning when Charles jerked awake from a rather curious sensation.

Someone was nuzzling his neck. He could feel stubble against his chin, warm bursts of breath gusting over the sensitive skin of his throat, and a heavy weight lay horizontally across his chest. He felt for it, finding that it was very much arm-shaped.

Mind still sleep-addled, he took Erik’s hand and, instead of pushing it away, tangled their fingers together – you know, like a fool.

Erik’s breath hitched, and as the pleasant haze of sleep lifted, Charles slowly became aware that the Genoshan king’s thoughts were not those of a man asleep, but those of a man who was very much awake.

Blood shooting into his cheeks, Charles tried to let go of Erik’s hand but was prevented from the other man keeping a tight grip on him. His thoughts were plunged into a flurry of worry and embarrassment – what would the Genoshan regent do now? Cry bloody murder until the servants had come running in on them? Claim that Charles had attempted to assault him, to sully his honour?

Charles’ racing mind was stopped dead in its tracks when Erik of Genosha exhaled gently and spoke right next to his ear, “I apologise. It’s just… the nights are always so cold in Westchester.”

Charles was certain the beating of his tell-tale heart could be heard all through the streets of his kingdom and beyond. “Oh, indeed,” he managed to stutter, “so the Genoshan climate is more temperate? Shall I call someone to stock up the fire?”

“No.” A rather satisfied sigh escaping him, Erik rolled over completely and pressed his body against Charles’ from head to toes – or at least Charles assumed the latter since he had no feeling to go on down there. The hem of his nightgown was tickling Charles’ chin, and then the Genoshan King actually threw one of his legs over Charles’ so that he was lying half on top of him. “You are warm enough, Charles of Westchester.”

It was dark, and Charles’ blood was rushing in his ears and his heart was clamouring in his throat, but he was quite certain that in this very instance, Erik was wearing the widest smile Charles had ever seen on him.

Slowly, unsure where to put his free hand, he smoothed it over Erik’s back – only to draw in a shuddery breath when the ruler of Genosha arched into his touch, mind lighting up in the most colourful sheens of emotion.

“You know,” Erik murmured, searing breath ghosting so close over Charles’ lips that he was astounded their noses were not yet touching, “you needn’t have gone to such lengths to ensure our people’s alliance.”

“Oh? How so?” Charles replied, praying to whatever god there was to steady his voice. His hand gave a nervous spasm against the wiry muscles of Erik’s back, and he heard both their breaths hitch.

With the hand which wasn’t laced through Charles’, Erik traced the contours of Charles’ face, gently brushed the tip of his fingers over Charles’ nose, his cheekbone – his lips. “In my lands,” he whispered, so low Charles had to strain his ears, “treaties such as these are simply sealed with a kiss.”

“Is that so,” Charles said in a feeble voice, and then he stilled when Erik leaned down, cupped his jaw and pressed their lips together in a kiss.

Erik’s back flexed under Charles’ hand, and he pushed gently but oh-so insistently into Charles’ mouth. And Charles let him, dazed by his heady taste, his warm weight on his chest, the steady purring of Erik’s thoughts against his own.

Time seemed to slow down. Charles kept holding on to Erik’s hand between their chests, buried his fingers in the man’s moonlight hair, rejoiced as the touch tore a small, sweet sound from Erik’s throat. And still, Erik kept kissing him, exploring Charles’ mouth with his tongue as though he wanted to memorise Charles’ taste, Charles’ warmth, Charles himself.

Mind long since fogged over with pleasure, barely thinking clearly, Charles still had the wits to wonder if all Genoshan treaties were sealed in so intense a manner. He doubted it – but really, who was he to complain?

When Erik pulled back at last, they were both breathing heavily. The back of Erik’s nightgown had soaked through with sweat, and all of a sudden, Charles felt the urge to taste, to kiss every nook and cranny on Erik’s body. His grip around Erik's waist tightened. 

For the first time in a long time, he truly _wanted_.

The Genoshan regent smothered a chuckle. Charles felt a full-body flush travel from his cheeks over his neck to his collarbones – he had projected every single one of his thoughts, of his emotions. How foolish.

“I apologise,” he hurried to rasp out, but Erik shut him up with a finger on his lips.

“Don’t,” he said. “It has been an honour, Charles of Westchester. I am no longer cold now.”

Then, to Charles’ great regret, his grip on Charles’ hand slackened.

“Don’t-” _go_ , Charles wanted to say, wanted to grip Erik’s ridiculously slim waist tightly and hold on, but Erik beat him to it.

Careful not to let any of the cool slip under the covers, he nestled into Charles’ side, his chin neatly propped up on Charles’ shoulder. When Charles wouldn’t immediately slide his arms around him, he huffed a frustrated sigh and reached for his hand. “Hold me.”

“I- yes.” And what else could Charles possibly do but comply?

Gingerly, he slid an arm under Erik’s waist to pull him closer, encouraged by a bright wave of agreement running over the man’s mind. And then he felt it – Erik’s heart battering against his ribcage, not any less stirred by their actions than Charles’.

Courage infusing him with sudden confidence, Charles craned his neck and aimed to place a chaste peck on Erik’s lips. He got caught on the tip of his nose instead, but that worked just as well.

“Sleep well, Erik of Genosha,” he whispered into the quiet of the room, already sensing Erik’s steady breath lulling him back to sleep.

Erik smiled against his shoulder and said nothing. The quiet thrum of his mind was as the sunlight pouring down for the first time after a long winter, warming the lands and all which would live in it.

And even as he slipped away into dream, Charles felt a shy, daring hope for change budding in his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are life, comments are love. Also: smutty sequel, yes or no?
> 
> Edit: Smutty sequel is the second work in the series :)


End file.
